Arda Turan is one of those guys around whom things happen.

Although, most often, it’s him who makes things that way …

Like him crashing his six-figure Aston Martin and practically writing it off on the way to training. Aged 19.

Like him throwing his boot at a linesman in a cup tie against Barcelona.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8YT7x0YAlIE

Like his national team fans booing the Turkey captain in the summer every time he touched the ball against Spain. Booing like they were fit to burst.

Like him having his hirsute head shaved, after a bet, when Atlético beat Real Madrid to win the Copa del Rey in 2013.

Like him leaving Atlético to spend six months without playing at transfer-ban Barcelona and complaining he was leaving the Diego Simeone boot-camp because he had to “run too much”.

Like him personally subsidising the rent for close neighbours in his old ‘hood of Bayrampasa in Istanbul (it’s just behind the local IKEA and Jurassic Land if you care to know) because that’s the way he rolls.

What happened around him on Wednesday night, however, was that he scored the most remarkable goal of the week.

Lovely movement, an unbelievably deft dink from Neymar (you won’t see better bunker shots at the Ryder Cup I promise you) to “assist” him and then an odds-against thunderbolt, while Arda was being squeezed away from goal, past the Borussia Mönchengladbach keeper Yann Sommer.

That makes it five goals and three assists for the Turk this season (he also scored against Celtic in pre-season).

For a guy who last season only played from January onwards, because of the FIFA ban on Barcelona’s ability to register and play new signings until then, and then looked either lumbering or lazy, this has been an Olympian few weeks.

In fact, last season, ambling around, he scored just twice in 25 appearances.

Definitely a couple of kilos leaner, he’s shown his hunger for staying at Barcelona rather than for Catalan cuisine.

One of his problems is perception. He’s got wonderful ability but many people in football still judge the book by the cover.

For example, he doesn’t run. He pads.

I can barely think of anyone who moves about the pitch more distinctively than Arda Turan.

Rather than even jog on the balls of his feet, pushing off his toes, he kind of plants his whole sole down on the ground, shoulders forward, bum sticking out, and trots (almost shuffles) like players when they de-celerate after a training run.

You get the picture. It gives off an iconic “well this is the limit – you really want me to chase after that ball?” image. On a given day he can make Dimitar Berbatov look hyperactive.

The great thing is that this isn’t a lazy or arrogant man. He just sees football from a different kaleidoscope than most people.

Let him explain how he trains his eyes harder than his physique.

“If we don’t have a game I’ll watch all the other teams play on television, even the youth leagues.

“Training your vision by watching football over and over is very important.

“You work on your football intelligence by watching and assimilating what other teams and other players do. That’s vital for footballers, like me, who play with their brain.

“Sometimes I hear commentators in Turkey say, with sarcasm, that my technique ‘isn’t too bad’.

“I laugh at them. They can criticise what they like about me – my physical ability for example. That I could comprehend.

“But what’s this about ‘not bad technique! I could play keepy-uppy lying flat in bed!

“Okay, I know my limitations. No way could I ever reach the level of Ronaldo or Messi. But I’m a good team player, I can make a side tick. Hell, let’s not be foolish – I can play!”

Just as well, too. He’s among players at Barcelona.

Something about which he’s still all gooey-eyed.

“I love playing with Messi, Neymar, Busquets and the rest because they make everything so easy.

“They are incredibly intelligent tactically.

“At Atlético the situation was different. Now I’m playing with the best in the world and my own game is improving.

“Messi’s just God’s miracle for football. Completely from a different planet. “But, for me, Iniesta is the guy to emulate. He’s an example for us all, both as a player and as a man. “Andrés doesn’t play football – his game is a work of art. Neymar is my mate and we’re always together but Iniesta is my idol. He’s the one I watch the most. I look at how he plays, how he moves.

“He’s a great guy too. Calm, easy going, quiet … Neymar is more like me – pretty hot blooded.”

Just to return to judging the book by the cover, Arda is actually, despite his Little Lord Fauntleroy persona on the pitch, both deeply ambitious and a “can-do” kinda guy.

“I’m here specifically to win the Champions League,” he says.

“I’m not like so many from my country. A Swedish guy will watch a tightrope walker to see how he does it. A Turk will watch the same performance to see if he falls.

“I want to be an example for kids in Turkey. To show them that, like me, if you believe, if you work hard, if you trust your ability, you can achieve anything.”

Except Spanish. For a guy who’s been in this country for more than five years his language achievements would have earned him a conical hat with a “D” on it in the old days.

But he’s comical, too.

After scoring that blinder of a goal in Mönchengladbach and almost lofting another “bunker shot” of a chip over Sommer, Arda reluctantly agreed to be interviewed by Spanish TV.

“Very slowly … very little speak!” he warned interviewer Ricardo Rosety with a grin the size of Union Street.

And after piecing together a few pidgin phrases about what a tough opponent Borussia had been he ended the comical little appearance with: “Borussia hard but this MUCH harder!”, laughed amiably and padded back off in search of the team bus. Bit of a character Arda Turan. Bit of a footballer, too.

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Paco reign swash and buckled

Dear old Pako Ayesteran, a talent and a chum of mine, wasn’t the only coach sacked these last few days in La Liga.

Pako had the misfortune to be blamed by the people who sacked him for the people who sacked him selling all the good players.

Try beating those odds.

Makes the casinos look like philanthropists.

No. The other pocket rocket, bantamweight size, shaven head, devotee of attacking football who got the tin-tack was Paco Jemez.

The guy who used to coach Rayo Vallecano, take his players on prison visits and who Carlo Ancelotti, the first time he coached Madrid against Rayo, asked “HOW?” Paco got his team to play like that and “… could he come and study Rayo’s training?”

Jemez, sadly, seems to know how to coach a team to play on the front foot, to pass the ball and to give the fans value for money.

But there’s no evidence, at all, that he could find “defensive organisation” in a dictionary.

Once he left Rayo, where he could do precisely as he pleased because he kept on keeping them in the top division (until this summer), the fascination was to discover whether or not he’d show new ability to make his team less leaky.

Whether there was more in his tactical armoury.

Sadly, he picked a sproncy little Andalucian club which think’s it’s cock o’ the walk and which has just been bought by Chinese investors.

Time was going to be as much of a premium as shade in summer at Granada.

And time’s already run out after his team lost to what’s expected to be direct relegation rivals, Leganés, making it two draws and four defeats in six outings.

Nothing more predictable, sadly. Eccentric coach, hungry crowd, asset-stripped squad, new impatient owners.

Coach gone.

What’s sadder is that this hasn’t been the time when we learn whether or not there’s more to Paco Jemez’s repertoire than a bit of swash and buckle.